by Christa Wick
Realizing the fool rambling on was me, I snapped my mouth shut.
A grin broke across Barrett’s face as he tucked his axes between his harness and jumpsuit in an X-pattern over his broad chest.
“You mean Jester Carey? You telling me you’re Jester’s kin?”
I shrugged. The whole thing was a long story. I had never heard of the relative until two weeks prior when his estate attorney contacted me. The attorney, and the paperwork the man had faxed me, referenced a Jasper, not a Jester.
Mindful of the time limit Barrett had given his team, I handed him a piece of paper with the GPS coordinates on it while I looked for the map printout I had made at the hotel.
“Yep, dang.” A fresh grin surfaced but was immediately wiped away. “Sorry, but there’s no way you can go up there. Based on the comms tower being down, I’d say the fire reached the property.”
“That can’t be,” I groaned. “I have to…”
I dropped my head and stared at how my hands twisted in my lap. Just like that, fate had stepped in and ruined my chance at a fresh start.
“Hey…look, you can wait in the hangar with dispatch, but I don’t know when we’ll be able to give a SITREP on that location. Best thing to do is head to Willow Gap and wait for the fire to die down and the smoke to settle.”
Barrett reached into the pocket of the jeans he had just stripped off and pulled two cards from his wallet. He handed both to me. One had his name on it, the other was for a woman named Siobhan. Both had the last name of Turk. Probably his wife, which made total sense. No man that hot was single, no matter what kind of partner he preferred.
“Get hold of her and tell her you’re Jester’s kin. When I know the status of the property, I’ll get a message to her.” His hands wrapped around the window frame, his head ducking down to meet my gaze. “I’m sorry, but I have to go.”
I nodded, my tears kept in check until Barrett Turk and his team taxied down the dusty airstrip.
2
Barrett
It was closing in on midnight when the recovery vehicle carrying my team approached the hangar. An M924 bought at auction, the Army cargo truck had last seen service in Iraq. The bed was fourteen feet long. Bench seats lined both sides and a canvas tarp stretched over a bowed frame tall enough that no one had to duck when moving around inside.
At that moment, after ten plus hours of sawing, swinging axes and digging at hard ground, my men weren’t thinking about whether they needed to duck. They were sprawled on the floor of the bed, their heads propped against their re-folded parachutes or their buddy’s shoulder. Only me and Lake, the driver, remained awake.
My muscles and the tired buzzing in my head told me I should be sleeping, too. But every time I closed my eyes, I saw the woman from the highway. I didn’t even know her name, but she had occupied my thoughts in the quieter moments of the mission. Now that the mission was over, I couldn't get her out of my head.
What I was doing to her in the darker corners of my mind would have made even the most experienced stripper blush. A sucker for lush curves and abundant breasts, I couldn't help myself. Even when confronted with her fresh-faced beauty and soulful brown gaze, I still wanted her naked so I could study every curve in detail. Those plump thighs and full hips. The graceful curve of her neck as it led downward to her soft shoulders.
My imagination kept circling back to her breasts, my big hands holding them together as my cock slid between them. I could see those beautiful large eyes of hers with the thick lashes half lowered as she watched me pumping, a carnal hunger parting her full lips, her tongue darting out when I brought the crown close to her mouth.
And, for every lick she gave me, I would give her a dozen when it was time to part her thighs and feast.
Guilt and an uncomfortably hard cock made me shift in my seat. I couldn't believe I could remember so many details of the woman's face and body, but had so quickly forgotten my manners in front of her. I hadn’t even told her I was sorry about Jester passing. The omission was made worse by the fact that Jester wasn’t just some old man on the mountain. He’d been a lifelong friend to Dorothea Turk, my grandaunt.
Reaching the hangar, I cast my gaze around the vehicles until I spotted the one I was looking for. At midnight, the sight of the woman’s pickup shouldn’t have made me happy.
The hangar had cots and a bathroom with showers. There was a galley kitchen, a coffee machine and vending machines for both snacks and drinks. But it wasn’t a place for women, especially considering some of the pictures Charlie, the twice-divorced pilot, liked to keep up on the walls.
Thinking in particular about the picture taped to the back of the bathroom door, I put my head in my hands and groaned.
“You should be sleeping like them boys back there,” Lake chuckled. “Guess you still have too much adrenaline rushing through you.”
“Something like that,” I agreed as the vehicle rolled to a stop. Grabbing my gear from the floor of the truck cab, I nodded at Lake. “Wake them up for me.”
“Sure thing,” he answered. “You need a ride back to your place? Heard you sheared an axle.”
“No. Winston will probably crash here. I’ll head back with him in the morning.”
At that moment, I didn't care if I had to walk home. I just wanted my stuff stowed and a quick clean up before I approached the woman.
Entering the hanger, I placed my gear on the cot furthest from the coffee maker and all the noise that came with the machine when a dozen caffeine deprived males descended on it all at once. Slipping into the restroom, I turned the water on in the sink and washed the soot from my hands and face so I didn’t look a complete mess.
I checked my phone one last time. Still no signal. I guessed the same was true for the woman’s phone. That likely meant she hadn’t contacted Siobhan, my cousin at the sheriff’s station in Willow Gap. I would have to break the news that Jasper’s cabin had burned to the ground.
Feet dragging, I headed for the truck. There was just enough light from the hangar for me to see inside the cab. The woman slept stretched across the bench seat, her feet down by the pedals and her head by the passenger door. She had a sleeping roll under her head as a pillow. A jacket covered her torso.
The door windows on both sides were cracked an inch, but there was no sound coming out of the cab. She was a quiet sleeper, then—at least when she was camped out in a truck.
I tapped lightly at the window.
“Ma’am, can I talk with you?”
I tapped again. “Ma’am.”
I really wished I had gotten her name before I left. It would make it less like a complete stranger telling her the bad news.
Walking around to the passenger side, I tapped again, this time on the door and not the window.
She bolted upright.
Raising both hands, I took a big step back.
“I tapped and called a couple times from the other side. Sorry I startled you.”
Rubbing at her eyes, she opened the driver side door. She stepped out, turning to face me where I had moved to stand by the back of the truck.
I put the tailgate down and took a seat at one edge. She drifted over and sat at the other corner.
“Is your team okay?” she asked.
The question shocked me. It wasn’t the first thing landowners thought to ask. First, they wanted to know how their stake fared. And if it hadn’t fared well, they forgot about everything—and everyone else—as often as not.
“Not even a splinter,” I answered. “Thank you for asking. That means a lot.”
She nodded, brushed at the knee of her jeans for a second then looked at me, the building’s light at her back so that her face was all shadows.
“I wasn’t able to call your wife.”
“My what?” I asked, then laughed hard for a second before my overworked stomach muscles complained. “Siobhan is my cousin, not my wife. She works dispatch at the sheriff’s office while she completes her training for a deputy position.�
��
I edged closer to the center, stopping when the woman was a foot away. It didn’t feel right telling her at a longer distance what had happened to Jester’s place.
Knowing I was about to crush the faint smile playing across her face, I tried to stall the inevitable.
“Why didn’t you head to Willow Gap?”
She shrugged. “No hotel there. I’d have to head closer to Billings to find a room.”
I smacked my palm to my forehead, my cheeks flushing with how abrupt I had been in all my dealings with the woman before hopping on the plane.
“I didn’t clarify why you should tell her you were Jester’s kin. My family’s got plenty of spare beds around Willow Gap. She would have made sure you were put up proper.”
I extended my hand. “I’m Barrett Turk, by the way. I’m sorry I had to run off on you like that. Sorry about scaring you half to death to start with.”
She slipped her hand into mine, her touch cool from sleeping in the truck at night with the windows cracked for ventilation.
“I’m Quinn Whitaker,” she said. “And I’m sorry I almost ran you over and made you jump into a ditch…”
She trailed off, a long moment of silence threading between us as she withdrew her hand and folded it against her lap.
“The news isn’t good, is it?”
“No,” I rasped, the sudden anguish her voice carried twisting in my gut like a hunting knife. “Most of the timber is still standing, but the cabin is gone.”
Hearing Quinn’s sniffle, I scooted closer, my big hand patting gently against her back. Her shoulders shook with a sob. Instinctively, I pulled her to me, her face sheltered against the crook of my neck as I wrapped both arms around her.
“I know,” I whispered. “It’s like losing him all over again.”
Her shoulders shook harder. She pushed away and swiped ruthlessly at her eyes.
“No,” she answered. “I didn’t even know I had a granduncle until the estate attorney called.”
She pulled her feet onto the tailgate, her legs tightly drawn to her torso. Burying her face against her knees, Quinn sobbed some more.
“I’m not a terrible person,” she promised. “I wish I had known about him, known him when he was alive. But I didn’t—and I really needed what he left me. It was my last lifeline.”
“There’s still value there.” I rested my palm on her shoulder, knowing I probably shouldn’t keep touching Quinn but unable to control my need to comfort the woman. “The cabin wasn’t really worth anything. It was built before Jester was born. But the property is a real jewel. Two streams, a stocked pond.”
She lifted her head long enough to violently shake it then hid her face once more, her words muffled as she spoke.
“I only get the land and timber if I live on it every day for ninety days—starting tomorrow. I was supposed to meet the attorney there, get the keys and work out the verification details.”
With her hands wrapped around her head, she pulled at her hair. “We were supposed to use my phone’s GPS and a tracking app. The attorney would check it at six in the morning and again at ten at night. With the cell tower down…”
I slid off the tailgate to stand in front of Quinn. Slowly, I eased her fingers out of her hair, my hands enfolding hers and squeezing lightly.
“Who is this attorney?”
She lifted her head, the track of her tears catching and reflecting the light from the building.
“Ch-Charles Cross.”
“Okay, we can work with that. I know ole Criss-Cross doesn’t want to haul himself out of a cozy bed or comfortable recliner twice a day to drive out to Jester’s. You and I will go together in the morning and talk with him. He’ll be sensible.”
I hoped my words would bring at least a ghost of a smile to Quinn’s face.
“It’s not just the attorney. The state gets the land if I default.”
“How about we worry what the state says in the morning. For now, you need real sleep, we both do. There are cots inside. No one would bother you anyway, but you can sleep on the cot next to mine if it makes you feel any safer.”
“Thank you,” she whispered. “I don’t understand why you’re being so kind, but thank you.”
Giving her hands a final gentle squeeze before letting go, I kept a growl buried inside my chest. There was more to Quinn’s story that she wasn’t ready to tell yet. Someone in her past had twisted her life around so much she had learned not to expect any kindness from strangers.
“I wasn’t raised to turn people who need help away, ma’am. And you’re Jester’s kin. He meant a lot to my family, especially my Aunt Dotty. That means you do, too.”
She didn’t reply, at least not with words. I heard the sob she tried to keep silent, felt it, too. For everything I had just said, it was more than how my parents raised me or my fondness for the old man who had lived on the ridge. Something about Quinn Whitaker struck a chord deep inside me.
“I’ll take your suitcase and bag in, give you a few minutes alone,” I offered.
“Yes, thank you. Your team has had enough to deal with. They don’t need a wailing woman.”
“I…I didn’t mean—”
Surprising me, Quinn reached out and touched my arm. “I know you didn’t, but it’s the truth. I’ll be along shortly.”
“Right, I’ll grab your things then.”
I scooped the suitcase out of the back and grabbed the sleeping roll from the cab. Inside the hangar, I placed them on the cot next to mine. With Quinn’s stuff in place, I walked a quick line to the bathroom, growling as I went.
“There’s going to be a lady on deck for the night, mind your manners.”
I entered the bathroom to a chorus of snickering assent and lighthearted taunts. Rolling my eyes, I shut the door, ripped the poster off and stuffed it far down in the trash can before checking the stalls for more pin-ups.
Finished policing the bathroom, I sat down on my cot and waited, heart galloping in my chest, for Quinn Whitaker to come inside.
3
Quinn
I woke to the smell of coffee and bacon. My stomach rumbled with hunger. I had eaten little the day before, just a banana purchased at the gas station on my way out of Billings and a bag of chips from the vending machine in the hangar. Breathing in the delicious aroma, I stretched, arms above my head and toes pointed, my body a twisting line of graceful curves.
Remembering I had gone to sleep surrounded by the half dozen men who hadn’t felt like driving home, I contracted at once, my cheeks instantly hot. Lifting my head, I looked around. The cots were empty, the men and their gear gone.
Except for one cot—Barrett’s. He was absent, but his gear waited in a tidy pile.
“Good morning,” a familiar voice rumbled.
I looked toward the kitchen door to find him standing there in the jeans and t-shirt he had been wearing when I first tried to run him down. He had expanded the prior day’s ensemble to include a blue apron with white blocky letters.
I squinted to make out the words.
Mr. Good Lookin' Is Cookin'
The apron was one hundred percent accurate, I thought, my hand lifting to hide a grin.
Returning to the stove, he called over his shoulder. “I hope you’re not a vegetarian.”
“Not in a million years,” I answered. “Do I have time to use the bathroom before that’s ready?”
He looked at me, a hint of speculation as his gaze traveled over my body. I was too shocked to blush. Was he actually ogling me?
Not possible, Wool-for-Brains.
My certainty that a man with Barrett’s face and body couldn’t be mentally undressing me wavered as he refocused his attention on the stove, a dark rose staining the tan cheeks.
“So long as you don’t mean to shower before breakfast, you’ve got plenty of time.”
It took me a second to find my voice.
“No shower,” I agreed, grabbing a small travel bag from my suitcase. “I’ll be ou
t in a jiffy.”
I should be miserable, I thought, closing the bathroom door and catching a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror over the double sinks. I half looked it, but the grin was back and unhidden.
I put the hygiene bag on the vanity and dipped into one of the stalls to relieve the pressure on my bladder. Returning to the sink, I did a double take at the back of the bathroom door. Someone had taken down the large poster of a voluptuous bikini-clad model hugging her overflowing chest, her elbows tucked tightly against her nearly non-existent waist.
Had to be Barrett, I decided, my smile deepening as I washed my hands and ran cold water over my face. The poster had stayed up while I was there alone with the hangar’s caretaker, an old man in his seventies. Of course, someone else on Barrett’s team could have taken it down, but they had no reason to know I would be spending the night. And I had seen the speculation in their gazes when I came in and took the cot next to Barrett’s.
I hadn’t felt threatened in the least, but I wouldn’t brand any of the other guys as enough of a gentleman to tear down the lewd photo. Plus Barrett had said my granduncle meant a lot to his family. That’s why he was being so protective of me and why he was most likely to have made sure the poster disappeared before I had to see it again.
Satisfied I had it all figured out, I swished some cinnamon mouthwash around, spit it down the sink and headed for the kitchen to see what else my knight-in-sooty-armor was cooking up.
Barrett emerged from the kitchen with two plates. He nodded at the dispatcher’s desk where bottles of orange juice from the vending machine waited alongside forks and paper towels. For a second place to sit, he had hauled over a lidded trash can.
“You’re an excellent improviser,” I laughed.
He put the plates on the desk then slid the chair out for me.
“And a gentleman,” I added.
There was more I could say. A lot more. Considerate, handsome, and off-the-scale sexy when the entire package was rolled together. Being that close to him, his gaze landing and staying on me, had my body tingling in all the right—or very wrong—places.